


Bending over backwards

by grimmfairy



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Teen Wolf (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alpha Scott, Awesome Alan Deaton, BAMF Stiles, Break Up, Derek betrays Stiles, Derek is a bad boyfriend, He meets Cisco, Hurt Stiles, Lydia is a Bad Friend, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall is a Bad Alpha, Scott is a Bad Friend, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Sterek is most certainly over forever in this fic, Stiles is betrayed, Then the Flash and Arrow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-05-25 20:37:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6209215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmfairy/pseuds/grimmfairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is betrayed by his friends when they try to take away his spark because they're scared by the magnitude of his potential power. He ends up in the hospital and they suck at apologizing.<br/>Stiles leaves Beacon Hills and goes on an adventure through the fandoms to unlock his true inner bad-ass with the help of his new friends, mentors, and people he meets along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_I was trying to protect you_

_We were just doing what we thought was best_

_I wanted you to be safe_

_It was the only way_

_You would have been a target, the pack would have been targeted_

_It was too dangerous_

_The pack's decision was unanimous_

_We didn't know it would hurt you_

_It should have worked without you ever noticing_

The words swirled around him like rushing water, loud and indistinct and painful over the soft beeping of the hospital equipment, and not one apology. He focused on the calm presence of Alan Deaton standing in the corner as his pack talked at him, flung excuses and lies and justifications. Then deadly silence as the air was sucked out of the room and Stiles came back to himself to find several pairs of eyes trained on him. Eyes that were filled with the expectation that Stiles will just accept their decision and roll with it, shake it off and go back to being their spastic energizer bunny research machine. As if he could forgive them for holding him down and chanting poorly translated words over his prone form as liquid fire filled his veins and tore an animal scream from his throat. Like they could ever earn his trust back.

Well, they could take their hope and shove it.

He wasn't going to accept this. He wasn't going to shake this off with a joke and sarcasm. For once, he wasn't going to forgive without consequences. 

"So let me see if I have this right," Stiles said slowly, mechanically, devoid of emotion. "You, my friends and pack mates and  _boyfriend,_ decided that instead of telling me the truth, the truth being that I have magical Spark powers that Deaton could have helped me control, instead of telling me _that_ you all decided,  _as a group_ and  _behind my back,_ that it would be better for me to remain the defenseless human because it was more convenient.  _For you,_ a pack of werewolves  _with super-strength_ and  _supernatural healing abilities,_ it was more convenient to just rip away at my soul without my consent instead of giving me the chance to control the Spark that is rightfully mine. In fact, you didn't even use a proven method, no, you just cobbled together a spell from bullshit latin and herbs and assumed that you were smart enough to make it work. The only reason my brain didn't completely melt my own nervous system is because Deaton figured out what you were doing and managed to reverse your homemade spell, and if you had managed to rip my spark out like you wanted I would be dead."

"Babe, it wasn't like th-"

"Wasn't it,  _Der?_ " Stiles cut him off, making a disgusted face at Derek's once-treasured nickname. "You didn't spike my drink when I wasn't looking? You didn't use my trust in you to trick me into accepting the poison that started to smother my spark so i couldn't fight back? You didn't almost kill me? Well, then I must be dreaming because it looks to me like I'm in the hospital, again. Because of my pack, again. Because I had decisions about my LIFE made behind my back with no regard to how it feels to lose bodily autonomy  _again_."

The pack's faces had begun to drop one by one as he spoke, Scott first, followed by Lydia and Kira and Liam, then Derek. Stiles made solid eye contact with each, daring one of them to contradict him. To deny what he knew to be the honest truth.

"Well? Do I have it right?" Stiles shouted at them. The bed he was lying on as well as every piece of furniture and equipment in the room raised into the air and crashed back down at his outburst. His  _friends_ winced and shared scared looks with each other. Derek looked at him again, shocked by the crazed anger in Stiles's eyes and the enormity of the pack's mistake dawned on him.

"Stiles, we were just trying to-"

"SHUT UP SCOTT!" Stiles roared, his eyes flaring purple and the water glass beside the bed shattering. Scott whimpered and shrunk into himself, his eyes glowing a weak red in response. "Get out. All of you."

Everyone exchanged looks again, as if deciding whether or not to heed Stiles's order. Lydia held up a placating hand, a patronizing expression on her perfectly made up face.

"I said, get. Out," Stiles spat, his words clear and slow as if speaking to someone he didn't trust to follow the most basic instructions. "All of you."

"But-"

Stiles turned a withering glare to Lydia, effectively shutting her up. He wasn't scared of the Banshee, not now that he knew the truth of his own heritage. 

"Get. Out."

"Baby-"

"I never want to see you within ten feet of me or my father ever again, Derek. In fact, I never want to see any of you _ever_ again."

The pack filed out, one by one and properly chastised for the moment, Derek sparing one last pleading glance at his boyfriend as if Stiles would crumble just like he always had. Stiles had always loved Derek's eyes, had bent over backwards to help him move past all the baggage in his past. He had put his life on hold to help the pack fight off monster after monster, put off going to college much to his father's dismay and ended up with scars from wounds he couldn't afford to go to the hospital for. Scott had stressed that the pack came first, the pack always came first.

But Stiles was tired of bending over backward for people who didn't want to do the same for him. 

"You handled that rather well," Deaton said impassively after a few minutes. Stiles snorted loudly, picking at a loose fiber in his hospital-issue blanket. "I expected more from a True Alpha."

"I would have thought you'd want me powerless," Stiles replied, turning to look at the Druid. "Less competition in the magical emissary world."

Deaton studied him for a moment. Of course he had been concerned when he first explained what a Spark was to Scott, and warned him that Stiles's gift was unstable at that time because he wasn't trained. Hunters would target him until he could control his powers and other creatures would be drawn to Beacon Hills in search of the magic. He had meant to convey that Stiles would need to leave Beacon Hills to train, not that he needed to be stopped. Scott had apparently made some very poor assumptions, especially considering that Stiles was loyal to a fault to his oldest friend. 

"I cannot allow a gift such as yours to be snuffed out by the misguided notions of an Alpha that has been under my admittedly lax tutelage," Deaton answered smoothly, his intentions hidden as usual. "As much as I may grow to envy your strength and abilities, I am partially to blame for what has transpired and I will do what I can to restore the balance."

"So you'll help me?"

"What do you need?"

"I need to leave Beacon Hills, and I want to learn to control what I have," Stiles replied simply, as though discussing what he wanted for breakfast. "I want my dad to be safe while I'm gone, and I never want to have decisions about my life made behind my back again."

"I will make a few calls," Deaton said. He was as annoyingly vague as ever, Stiles decided. 

"Thanks, I think."

Deaton wasn't sure what Stiles's purpose was, but it was not his place to smother the Spark. It would only lead to wildfire that destroyed everything in its path. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Melissa had noticed her first gray hair at the age of twenty-six. Actually, she hadn't noticed it at all. Raf, her asshole husband, had pointed it out one night while she was cooking dinner for them. It was the first time she felt creeping doubt in her husband's love. Now, after having Scott, divorce, the death of her best friend and practically raising Stiles in her stead, she had many grey hairs. They didn't bother her much anymore, and she was hardly the only nurse with them. It would have been easy to blame the stress of the job, the divorce, even genetics for the signs of aging that graced her still youthful features. But she knew that most of them were from Stiles. Specifically, the mischief that Stiles seemed to constantly be getting into, often with her son trailing behind.

Though now, any new grey hairs would most certainly be the result of the last few days.

Seeing Stiles unconscious and bleeding from his eyes and nose was burned into her memory, so much so that she didn't remember what Deaton had looked like carrying him. Probably an emotionless mask as usual. Scott had been trailing behind with the rest of the pack (still weird to think of a ragtag group of kids as a pack) looking scared and Derek looked guilty.

"Where are you doing here?" Melissa asked her son as he approached her in the hospital hall. She was in street clothes, just visiting Stiles and his father to take them some food and make sure the Sheriff had gone home last night for some sleep. Scott had a determined set to his shoulders and a teddy bear from the hospital gift shop tucked under his arm.

"I'm here to see Stiles."

"That's not a good idea," Melissa sighed, knowing that she might as well have not spoken at all. Scott's little grin and shrug were all the proof she needed that her son hadn't yet fully accepted the depth and depravity of what he'd done.

"I know he's mad now, but I gave him a few days to cool off," Scott side stepped her to continue on down the hall to Stiles's room. "I'll see you at home."

Melissa watched him go, comparing briefly the mental pictures of him as a baby with the young man she saw now, and she felt sadness tinging her normal pride. He was strong and healthy and a leader. But he was naive and valued his position of Alpha over the loyalty of his best friend. He was blinded by ambition, by the shiny new friendship of people who owed him their lives but wouldn't lay down those same lives for each other.

He was a teenager.

She didn't wait for him, and instead went home to her empty house to make dinner with her graying hair swept into a ponytail.

Melissa was sitting on the couch with a mug of tea in her slightly chilled hands and the nightly news playing softly on the television. Scott hadn't come home yet, but the sheriff had texted her that he left shortly after he arrived. She assumed her son was off brooding or running or hanging out with the pack. Her phone screen was dark and hadn't lit up with Scott's name all day. At this point, there was little doubt how Stiles had reacted to Scott's intrusion.

The front door handle jiggled then opened as Scott used his key, and Melissa flinched when the sound of slamming echoed through the house. The angry werewolf stalked into the living room and stood before her. All she saw was the little boy she had tried to raise to be a good man that strove to be better than his father. Instead, she had instilled a black-and-white sense of morals that left little room for dissent.

"How long have you known?" Scott growled. Melissa calmly took a sip of tea.

"Your talk with Stiles didn't go well, I'm assuming."

"No, it didn't, because he wouldn't speak to me," Scott said, narrowing his eyes. "His dad told me he's leaving Beacon Hills as soon as he's discharged from the hospital. How long have you known?"

"That he's leaving or that he wouldn't speak to you?" Melissa couldn't keep the disappointment out of her voice, not that it mattered with her werewolf son constantly smelling her emotions. That was something she still wasn't used to.

"Both!"

"John asked me how long it would take for Stiles to be able to travel a few days ago," Melissa shrugged, sipping her tea again. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out why he asked. As for Stiles not talking to you...isn't it obvious?"

"Uh, _no_! I said I was sorry!"

Melissa gently set her half-full mug on the coffee table, making sure to use a coaster. She liked that table. She sat back, arranging her hands in her lap and gazing at her son.

"You don't deserve his forgiveness, baby," Melissa said softly, her voice steady and her eyes dry. "What  _you_  have done, what  _your_ pack has done, is unforgivable. And I don't blame Stiles for not speaking to you. He should do much more."

Scott stared at his mother in shock. She stared back, her face reminding him of Deaton. Impassive and yet conveying a distinct air of disappointment.

"I don't care why you did what you did because I know that you don't feel guilt for your actions, only for the outcome. You are so blinded by what you want that you almost destroyed your best friend," Melissa continued. "Your apology means nothing, because you aren't sorry."

"I was trying to do the right thing for the pack!"

"What about what was right for Stiles? Or is he not part of your group?" Melissa snapped, standing up to face her son. "He should have been your first priority. You really think any of these people would be there for you if you weren't their alpha? Stiles was your friend long before this werewolf bullshit started!"

Melissa rarely swore, and the shock on Scott's face at her words was almost comical. She sighed and felt the anger dissipating. She was tired.

"Go to bed. I'm going for a drive."

Scott watched his mother leave, wondering when she had started looking at him like he was a stranger. Had it started tonight? Or did he just not notice it before?


	3. THIS IS NOT A CHAPTER BUT I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY I'M SORRY

So I am really loving all the comment, first off, you make me happy.

I wasn't going to continue the story. But I did. And now I am getting all these ideas and suggestions from readers.

Current consensus seems to be:

  * Sterek is over
  * No making up with the pack (wasn't going to anyways, but there it is)
  * Stiles will become badass
  * He should leave Beacon Hills



Favorite comment ideas:

  * Platonic Argent and Stiles (explore Allison's effect)
  * Training montage
  * Cross-over? With whom?
  * Punish the pack



I would like this to be somewhat interactive between myself and you, the readers. Not a full "pick your own adventure", but as I wasn't planning to write a whole fic I am open to ideas.

 

Sorry again for the non-chapter.

 

Any and all ideas are welcome, do not hesitate. I will make the final decisions but popular themes will be likely explored.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles wasn't an accident, per se, more like a surprise. After a few years of fertility treatments and doctors, they had all but given up on getting pregnant. It was a lot easier to forget to use a condom when the woman he loved wasn't supposed to be able to get pregnant. John Stilinski could remember the exact moment Claudia had told him about the pregnancy. She had greeted him at the door, a shy smile on her beautiful face and a little plastic stick clutched tightly in her hand. She didn't need to say a word. John knew. The pregnancy was hard on Claudia. She had horrendous morning sickness, and her sense of smell tortured her daily. She went through bouts of paranoia over the baby growing inside her, whether it was healthy and developing correctly. They didn't want to know the gender of the baby until it was born, but John had painted the walls of the nursery a soft shade of green. When Claudia went into labor two weeks ahead of schedule, John couldn't stop the wave of fear he felt for his unborn child. 

Then, a squishy little pink monster was screaming and the room filled with palpable relief. Stiles was born, and named for his Polish grandfather that he would never meet. John had never loved anything, or anyone, so much.

Nor had he ever failed anyone so completely.

He knew he had screwed up after Claudia died. Unable to deal with his grief, or perhaps unwilling, if he looked deep enough into his soul, John had all but abandoned his son. His only remnant of Claudia. His whole world.

Now, he was determined to do what was best for his son. And for now, that was letting him go. Stiles was resting in his room and watching something on his laptop, propped up by as many pillows as John could find. The soup on the stove was boiling, and John bought it upstairs along with a peanut butter sandwich and small bowl of sliced strawberries. Melissa had given them a list of foods that Stiles could eat (mostly to keep him from going back to his diet of caffeine and Doritos), and he would be lying if he said he didn't get a small thrill of vindication that Stiles now needed to eat healthy too. At least for a little while. John had just settled the food on Stiles's nightstand when he heard tapping on the window. Stiles tensed, the smile that had greeted the sight of food gone in a flash.

"He can't get in," Stiles said tonelessly. John believed him. Derek was looking at him plaintively as if he had a foot to stand on in his eyes. 

"Do you want me to get my gun?" 

Stiles snorted, his eyes bitter and cold. 

"It's not worth the effort of burying the body."

Derek's eyes filled with hurt. Stiles had lined the windows with mountain ash, but it did nothing to dampen the sound. Stiles would have liked the satisfaction from deliberately closing the blinds in Derek's face, but he felt queasy and weak and didn't want to chance the humiliation of falling on his face. His father seemed to have the same idea though, and crossed the room with quick strides to do what Stiles couldn't. Once the window was blocked, John sat in a chair next to his son and proceeded to watch Netflix with him until he fell asleep again.

* * *

Deaton shushed the poodle puppy that he was attempting to examine. The tiny thing was shaking and trying to make a run for the door, not that Deaton held it against him. The owner, a young woman with hair that was almost alarmingly similar to her poodle's, had warned him about the skittish animal. After he finished the exam and handed the now calm and happy puppy back to its owner, Scott pushed his way into the clinic. The poodle puppy growled at him with the ferocity of a squeak toy as he passed. The young alpha wore an expression of frustrated confusion.

It was irrationally infuriating.

"You aren't scheduled to work today," Deaton said mildly, leading Scott back to the exam room. Hope bled into Scott's expression.

"I know. I just need some advice," Scott said. He was fidgeting with his sleeves. "Stiles won't talk to me. I think I deserve that much."

"I don't see any reason why I would be able to help you with this, Scott," Deaton answered, carefully inspecting the alpha. He was due to turn twenty shortly, and yet he was still such a child. 

"Why not?"

"I don't see anything wrong with the way Stiles is acting. If I were in his same position, I would have poisoned your cereal by now," Deaton said dismissively. Scott was gaping like a fish. "You really don't know, do you? The damage that you have caused to the future of your pack. I will claim partial responsibility for this. Your true alpha status has made me a complacent teacher. You showed such physical prowess, such natural charisma, that I didn't force you to improve, to move past such immature choices. To train. To make the hard choices, instead of taking the easy way out. I didn't force you to realize your full potential. The only person that owes you anything...is me."

Scott's face was flickering through a variety of emotions throughout Deaton's speech. Disbelief, anger, sadness, settling on defiance. 

"You said he was a threat!" Scott growled. Deaton remained unaffected. "That his _Spark_ would be a threat!"

"To which you responded in the _single worst way possible_. Instead of allowing Stiles to make his own way in the world, hone his skills, and return to take my place as a more powerful Emissary than any have seen in many decades, you decided to simply remove what you perceived as a problem. You took the easy way out because you didn't want to let Stiles live  _without you_."

"That's not true!" Scott protested. Deaton took a step forward, unafraid or uncaring, he wasn't sure.

"You forget that I know why they stay here in this town with you. I know that you weren't accepted into any of the schools you applied for, and you made sure to guilt the others into deferring so that you wouldn't have to be alone. So that they wouldn't leave and find lives of their own," Deaton narrowed his eyes. "So that you would still be the alpha."

"I...I didn't-The pack is needed here!"

Deaton turned his back, effectively dismissing Scott in the face of such a weak lie.

"We begin lessons next week. You _will_  be here every night at eight, you _will_ stay until I tell you to leave, and you _will_ take these lessons seriously. Now leave. I have a busy day."

* * *

Derek wasn't that surprised when John showed up at his loft. He had been expecting a throw down between them, and he knew it would take more than an apology to win his way back into the Sheriff's good graces. Well, as much as he had been before at least. He never got the impression that the Sheriff liked him that much.

The surprise came when John merely handed him a pair of envelopes, one thin and white with _Derek_ scrawled messily on the front, the other much thicker and unmarked. He set down the blank envelope and carefully opened the one with his name on it. Stiles's scent was thick on the paper.

_Derek_

_I don't know why you did what you did, and I don't really care. I'm tired. I'm tired of arguing with you, of being ignored by Scott unless he needs something, of being looked down on by Lydia. I'm tired of being the freak. So I'm leaving. I don't owe you an explanation, or an apology. I don't owe ~~you~~ anyone else in this pack, anything at all. _

_Stiles_

Derek crumpled the note in his hand, his eyes blurring with tears as sharp fury bloomed in his chest. He couldn't tell if he was angry at Stiles, at Scott, or himself. 

The second envelope held a restraining order against him, and a note from the Sheriff.

_I promised my son that I wouldn't say anything to you, but I can't let you go around thinking that your actions won't have any consequences. I can't prove you did anything in court, and no one in your pack would testify even if I could. But know this. If you come within 100 feet of my son without his express permission, I will shoot you with the good bullets. Stay away from him. For your own good, and his._


	5. Chapter 5

"Are you sure you're ready?" John asked. Stiles smiled wearily at him and hefted his backpack onto his shoulders and gripped his plane ticket just a little bit harder.

"I'm actually kind of terrified that if I don't leave now I'll never leave at all," Stiles said. "I love you, dad."

John pulled his son in for a hug.

"I love you too, kid," He said into his son's hair. "Meds?"

"Check."

"Phone charger?" 

"Che- _Damn it_! No I left it on the counter!" Stiles groaned. John smirked and pulled the cord in question out of his pocket.

"I know."

"Nice one, daddy-o," Stiles said, stuffing the charger into his backpack. He suddenly felt very small and very alone. "Dad?"

"Yeah kiddo?"

"Just...just be safe, okay?" Stiles said, his voice breaking as his eyes teared up. John nodded.

"I promise. Call me when you land."

The final boarding call was sent over the intercom. Stiles wiped his eyes and grabbed his stuff. His father watched him leave, waving one last time when Stiles turned back at the ticket checker. Stiles gave him a brave smile, and then he was gone.

* * *

_Stiles was strong enough to finally walked up the stair without getting winded and his eyes weren't sensitive to direct sunlight anymore. His muscles still ached in a dull way that no painkillers could seem to alleviate. It was a side effect of the spark healing the nerves damaged by the spell. His dad had called him out of school for the rest of the semester, not that he had to make up total lies. He was on record as having been in the hospital with unnamed neurological trauma. Melissa had told him the doctors were mostly playing around with the idea that it was some kind of mega-meningitis type disease that triggered massive seizures. So basically, they had no idea._

_His afternoon Deaton-approved yoga/physical therapy/control session was interrupted by a loud knocking on his front door. Stiles groaned as he lost his balance._

_"I'll get it!" His dad called from the hall. Stiles went back to focusing on his core and clearing his mind when he heard two sets of footsteps approaching,_

_"Stiles you have a visitor."_

_Stiles stood up and looked at his visitor. A young man with long black hair and a Star Wars t-shirt was standing in front of him. The beginnings of dark shadows ringed his eyes, but stance was alert with with a nervous energy._

_"Hey..." Stiles said. He didn't recognize him._

_"This is going to sound super weird but...I think someone wanted us to meet," The man said. "My name is Cisco, by the way. Cisco Ramon."_

_"Right..." Stiles said. Cisco looked harmless enough and he didn't give off any overt bad vibes, but years of experience made Stiles wary of the stranger._

_"Look, is this yours?" Cisco pulled a hunk of bronze out his pocket. Stiles froze. The thing was the melted nub of the bronze blade from the spell, melted down by Deaton to halt the effects. It was giving off evil energy, the leftover effects of the spell Lydia had used._

_"Where did you get that?" Stiles asked, his voice tight. The air seemed to crackle with energy. Cisco put it back in his pocket, staring intensely at Stiles._

_"It came in the mail. There was no return address."_

_"How did you find my son?" John asked suspiciously. Cisco seemed to notice the man standing there._

_"I can...this is going to sound really weird but...And I mean I know you know what weird is...but-" Cisco fumbled with his words. "I'm what we call a meta-human. Something in my DNA was activated when the Star Labs particle accelerator exploded and it changed me. I can see things. I get these vibes when I touch things. And when I picked this up, I had visions of you. Also, werewolves. And lot's of weird stuff. So yeah. I'm basically an oracle."_

_"Oh-kay. Yeah that's...that's a new one," Stiles conceded._

* * *

"Dude! Welcome to Central City!" Cisco shouted. Stiles couldn't help the grin that crossed his face at the sight of his new friend. Cisco high-fived him and motioned for him to follow. "How was your flight?"

"Terrible. I sat in front of a snoring walrus the whole time," Stiles answered, following Cisco out to the airport parking lot with his red suitcase rolling behind him. 

"Hungry?"

"Starving! I would kill for a burger," Stiles groaned. Cisco unlocked the Star Labs van he had driven to airport. 

"You, my new friend, have not lived until you have tried Big Belly Burger," Cisco hopped into the driver's seat. "Prepare to be amazed."

They drove in silence for a few minutes, and Stiles took the time to stare out the windows at the unfamiliar city. The city was huge compared to Beacon Hills, and it was far more urban.

"So...how's Eyebrows McDousche Wolf?" Cisco asked suddenly. Stiles snorted at the nickname. 

"I don't know. I haven't seen him since the day you and I met."

* * *

_Cisco was spinning around in Stiles's office chair. They had moved to his room when Stiles felt fatigue creeping into his muscles after his dad left for work._

_"Werewolves are real."_

_"Yeah."_

_Cisco waved his arms around in excitement._

_"Werewolves. Are real. Oh my god! This is it. The best day of my life. My life is complete now because werewolves are real."_

_Stiles laughed softly, the lingering darkness that had seemed to hang over him retreating for the moment._

_"Yeah. A lot of things are real."_

_"I would love to run some tests," Cisco said, his eyes going slightly glazed. "What if you're all just like...proto-meta humans? Like, a version of the meta human gene that found a way to activate that didn't require an explosion and dark matter-"_

_"Whoa, whoa, slow down. We can't let the world know werewolves are real, okay?  There are hunters and mass panic is always a concern. Plus, I doubt that any would want their DNA poked at. I, on the other hand, would be open to the idea," Stiles said. Cisco grinned wider and held up his hand for a high-five._

_"Dude, awesome. But I should probably tell you...since you can obviously keep a secret....I work with the Flash. And we have a team."_

_Stiles shrugged._

_"Who's the Flash?"_

_"For real?" Cisco looked offended. "How have you not heard about the Flash?"_

_"I've been kind of busy..." Stiles trailed off. And just like that, the dark mood was creeping back in._

_"Dude, you have to check him-Um, who are you?"_

_At that moment, Derek decided to make an entrance._

_Stiles groaned when he turned to see the werewolf standing menacingly in his doorway. The wolf had obviously waited for the Sheriff to leave and then entered through the front door._

_"Get out," Derek growled at the new person. Cisco didn't even flinch._

_"Is he for real?"_

_Stiles nodded, his anger rising._

_"Who are you?" Derek stepped forward, only to be pushed back by the mountain ash barrier around his room. Deaton had been particularly pleased with that one._

_"Um, excuse you, I'm an invited guest. Kind of. You're the one that broke into his house!" Cisco said, gesturing at Stiles where he was laying in his bed. Derek full on growled. Stiles rolled his eyes._

_"He's just mad that you're in my space and he can't even get close," Stiles said, pointedly avoiding eye contact. "Ex boyfriends can be like that."_

_"Oh," Cisco said. He squinted at Derek, as if trying to memorize him. "I recognize him. I saw him in my visions. He's the one that betrayed you."_

_"Well, one of them. But yeah."_

_Derek had stopped growling and mostly looked hurt._

_"Stiles-"_

_"Dude, just get out," Cisco said, standing protectively in front of Stiles. "I barely know him and already I'm a better friend."_

_Derek looked at Stiles. He was ignored._

* * *

"Why do you need six burgers?" Stiles asked, trying to balance the bags as Cisco led him deeper into Star Labs. A red blur streaked past, snagging the bags before Stiles could even blink. A man appeared, sitting in one of the chairs and wearing a red costume. 

"Dude! Secret identity!?" Cisco called. The man looked over to where Stiles was standing.

"You didn't tell him?"

"No! Stop revealing your face to people!" Cisco said. "Ugh. Stiles Stilinski, meet Barry Allen."

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

"So a particle accelerator exploded the night he got struck by lightning and now Barry has superspeed," Stiles said. "And the particle accelerator exploded because the man that built it was actually another evil superspeed guy from the future that came back in time to kill Barry but got-yeah, okay, his life story is up in my top five weird life stories."

"You have weirder stories?" Caitlin Snow asked incredulously. 

"Well, I was possessed by an evil fox spirit, I have magical powers, and for the last few years I've fought a variety of supernatural creatures." Stiles shrugged. "So yes, there's a top five."

Barry was on the treadmill at close to top speed so Caitlin could monitor his vitals, a daily routine for them. Stiles watched in awe. The man was running so fast he was literally blurred. It was awesome!

"So Cisco said you would be okay with me getting some genetic samples from you," Caitlin said, feigning nonchalance. "No pressure, obviously. i mean, we're complete strangers-"

"No, it's cool. I'd actually never considered the genetic possibilities of magic," Stiles said, smiling at the nice doctor. She was already slipping into research mode, he could tell. "So what do you need?"

"Well, I'd like a full physical, blood samples, the usual," Caitlin replied.

"Let's do it."

* * *

"Your blood cells look normal," Caitlin said absently, still observing something under a microscope. Stiles shot her a thumbs up and Barry stifled a giggle. "Maybe a little anemic, but nothing out of the ordinary. I would like to run some tests on the energy that you manipulate and run your DNA for the meta gene."

"You know it's okay to say magic," Cisco called from where he was fiddling with Barry's suit. Caitlin shot him an annoyed look.

"There's a scientific explanation for Stiles's abilities, just as there's an explanation for Barry's. We just haven't found it yet."

"I'm not really supposed to do much with it until I've gained control over my mind and body, which if you'd known me longer, you'd know is going to be a problem," Stiles said. "My...friend's boss knows a lot about the history of people with my abilities and he said that first I have to gain control over my body so my mind is free. Whatever that means, cryptic bastard."

"Well...let's think about that later," Cisco said as alarms started going off. "Robbery down town, no sign of a meta, just a hostage situation."

"Right, I'm going," Barry said, his easy demeanor snapping into hero-mode. He flashed out, leaving the mannequin that held his suit empty. Stiles settled behind Cisco, watching with rapt attention as he and Caitlin advised Barry and watched him through security cameras. It didn't take long to wrap up since the first thing Barry did was flash in and remove every weapon from the robbers' very surprised hands. Without weapons or the hostages that Barry removed next, they had nothing to keep the cops outside from storming the building. Less than a minute later, Barry was sliding to a stop in front of them, a grin plastered on his face.

"Nice going," Cisco said, leaning back in his chair. Barry shrugged, pulling the cowl back.

"Thanks. You know, I almost kind of miss Snart and his plans."

"Yeah, no i don't. I will take an easy robbery over their craziness any day," Cisco said, turning to Stiles. "So, now that you've seen the Flash in action, how about a celebratory trip to Jitters?"

"What's jitters?" Stiles asked. Cisco clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"My man, Jitters is where we go to replace our blood with coffee," Cisco answered. Barry laughed at Stiles's excited fist pump.

"I could go for some caffeine," Stiles said. "Bummer it doesn't work for you."

"Hey, they named a drink after me so I can't really complain," Barry said. Stiles's eyes lit up.

"Dude!"

* * *

Oliver was hard to sneak up on. After so many years of watching his back, he was fully aware of his surroundings, which was why he knew the second Deaton showed up.

"How did you find me?" Oliver asked, not turning away from the compound bow he was adjusting. 

"You're still so unwilling to accept the supernatural, yet you know more about it than most. Why is that?" Deaton asked, knowing it would just annoy the archer. Oliver sighed, and turned in his seat.

"What do you want?"

"I've come to collect my favor," Deaton said. Oliver glared at him. 

"What?"

"I have...an acquaintance that requires training. Training that i cannot give him because he does not trust me."

"What makes you think he'd trust me?" Oliver asked. "He doesn't know me."

"Exactly. Every person he trusted has let him down." Deaton frowned. "And he's never trusted me."

"Nobody should trust you," Oliver muttered. "I don't have time for this."

"If this boy can learn to control his powers, he could become more powerful that any sorcerer in the last three centuries, Damian Darhk included," Deaton said, his voice raising slightly. "I need your help because without it, this boy could fry his own nervous system, or wipe out an entire city block on accident. _He_ needs your help."

Oliver sighed. He couldn't deny that he owed Deaton a favor, and someone with trust issues was definitely in his wheelhouse. 

"What's his name?"

* * *

"So when do I get a codename?" Stiles asked. The pencil he was trying to lift with his powers clattered to the ground.

"When you start catching bad guys," Cisco answered. "Don't worry, I'll make it really good."

"So, Mr. Stilinski," Harry started.

"Stiles."

"Right, Stiles. You said you were sent here for training. How do you know?"

"Because this is the exact kind of cloak and dagger crap that Deaton always pulls," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. 

"So you need training."

"Yup," Stiles said, popping the "P". "I don't really know what kind."

"Well, we mostly do stuff like speed and medical exams," Caitlin said, her voice almost apologetic. "None of us have a lot of experience with physical training."

"Maybe not...but we know someone who is...." Barry trailed off. "Have you heard of the vigilante of Star City?"

"Oh, you mean Oliver Queen?" Stiles said. "Yeah, don't give those looks. I was the research guy in my old pa-in my group of friends. Mr. Queen is literally is the only person the vigilante could be."

"He's gonna be pissed you figured it out," Cisco said. Barry just hoped that Oliver wouldn't shoot Stiles with arrows. He didn't have the healing factor.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles fell into a sort of routine in the following week or so. He would wake up in the spare bedroom of Cisco’s little two bedroom apartment and meditate for an hour. He would then practice levitating small objects like a pencil (until it shot up and stuck in the ceiling), a small screw, a soda can, and even an action figure of a man wearing a parka that Stiles didn’t recognize. He meant to ask Cisco about it, but he forgot. Then he would usually go to Star Labs and allow Caitlin to run whatever tests she wanted to try for the day and again show off his levitation skills. If he wasn’t at Star Labs, it was because Cisco had taken it upon himself to show Stiles the city and they were going on an “excursion”, and occasionally Barry or Caitlin would tag along as well. For a guy from a relatively small town background, Central City was huge and fascinating with cool sight seeing and a history of metahumans that he was dying to learn everything about.

At night, he would Skype with his dad and then play videogames with Cisco and Barry or research the history of Sparks through the internet and a few dusty books that he was translating. He still didn’t trust Deaton, but the man did have an amazing collection of old texts. Cisco had given up watching his new friend translate the old languages after a few minutes, though (surprisingly) Harry was more than willing to help him translate Ancient Latin, Polish, and even Icelandic. Stiles wasn’t sure where the old Druid had gotten them, especially the Icelandic, but he was grateful for the distraction of translating the information he was learning.

It was on his eighth day of Central City living that he felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. His skin tingled with anticipation and he swung his head around to search for the source. Jitters was busy as usual, and no one seemed to be paying them any attention. 

He was most definitely being watched.  By whom, he didn’t know.

After he excused himself from Barry and Cisco’s heated debate of the best Star Trek episode, he stepped outside and went into an alley to concentrate on locating the aura of the person (or persons) that was following him. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and his arms were covered in goosebumps. 

Definitely being watched.

* * *

Oliver had arrived in Central City the day after Stiles, and he had spent every day since following him. He seemed so innocuous on the outside. His report card showed signs of an intelligent if distracted mind, with high scores on assignments that he was actually present for. He was surprised by the amount of concerned e-mails that Felicity found concerning visible injuries and bruises that didn't match the impossible stories Stiles made up to go with them. But it wasn't terribly surprising, he supposed, given that Stiles was an ex-member of a werewolf pack. He was sure there was a story behind that, one that he intended to ask about. 

He was surprised to read about the number of deaths that had occurred in Beacon Hills, California over the last decade. The Hale fire several years ago, the massacre at the hospital and police station, various students torn apart by animals or missing-and-presumed-dead. The strange creatures sighted by locals and out-of-towners showing up dead in the forest. It was all very strange and very disturbing. 

Stiles himself was lucky he even made out of there alive, much less with all of his limbs in tact. He had read Stiles's most recent hospital report, and the vague details and MRI results included stank of dark magic. _Poorly performed_ dark magic.

But he didn't think that the dark, haunted look that sometimes overcame Stiles's eyes when he thought no one was looking was the result of that night. No, it took more than that to make a kid startle at small noises into a fighting stance, or scout every room for possible exits and weapons upon entrance. He used to being in danger at all times, and Oliver understood how that felt. 

* * *

"So I'm definitely being followed," Stiles said casually as he stood over his current translating project. Harry looked up and gave him a thoughtful once over.

"By whom?"

"I don't-" Stiles paused, a surprised look on his face. "Wait, you believe me?"

"I believe that you have magical powers that as of now defy all scientific explanation," Harry said dryly. "It's not much of a stretch that someone would want to follow you."

"Right, there is that," Stiles agreed, still a little off-kilter from Harry's easy acceptance. "Well, I don't know who it is. I thought maybe it was someone from Beacon Hills, but now I'm not so sure."

"If you don't mind me asking, why did you wait so long to run away?" Harry asked, not even looking up from the text. Stiles was startled for a moment. Everyone else tended to avoid asking him about Beacon Hills. It was a sore subject. 

"My pack...my _friends_...they needed me. And I guess I just thought that maybe I needed them too," Stiles said after a long silence. "Turns out I wasn't really needed at all. I was just a pawn. A convenient research machine. And the second they realized that I could do something else with my life, something meaningful, they tried to make sure I would never leave."

"It sounds like you need closure," Harry said. "And you won't find it here. Escape, yes. But not closure."

Cisco meandered over from his seat at the command center.

"Normally I would warn you not to take friendship advice from Harry, seeing as he doesn't have any," Cisco said, ignoring Harry's flat glare. "But he has a point. Your old friends are dicks. And I know you never want to talk to them or see them again but it sounds like you might need to. Not for their sake, but for yours."

Stiles didn't respond.

* * *

Oliver was getting antsy. So far, he hadn't really seen any indication that Stiles had any sort of earth-shattering powers beyond a tragic past (and what looked to be some kind of PTSD). But he knew that Deaton had come to him for a reason, and he doubted that the Druid would cash in his favor lightly. So he continued to watch. For what? He wasn't sure yet. 

Surprisingly, Stiles seemed to notice his presence even if he couldn't quite pinpoint it. That was something, at least. He could work with that. Stiles seemed to possess other-worldly instincts when it came to danger, but had absolutely no grace in his movements. Grace could be achieved with training, and Oliver had a feeling that half of Stiles's problem was a lack of focus. He wondered whether Stiles would even want to train with him. Or if he could be trusted with knowing the Arrow's secret identity. He sipped at his to-go coffee, long gone cold, and settled into the comfortable chair of his hotel room. He had finally rented a room in the city and he had a meeting with a few local business owners that mostly wanted photos with a billionaire for their walls. It was as good a cover as any, now that he had observed Stiles enough to plan his approach.

He was reading even _more_ articles detailing the weird occurrences in and around Beacon Hills on his laptop, severely missing Felicity's internet connection, when he got Barry's call.

"Hey, Barry."

"Yeah, I'm in town for a few days. We should catch up before I head back."

"Sure, I'll be there. My treat."

Oliver hung up. He was meeting the Flash gang at Jitters tomorrow morning at ten, and Barry had seemed very excited to introduce him to someone new. He assumed that was Stiles. Barry was slow to trust, and the ease with which Stiles had inserted himself into the lives of team Flash was almost concerning. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What kind of training would be in the montage if this was a movie?


End file.
